


How do we fall in love (Harder than a bullet could hit ya?)

by onebatch2batch



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Healthy Mixture of Angst and Fluff, Karen Stays With Frank, Post-Canon, Wilson Fisk Returns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: A fire breaks out in Karen Page's apartment, and that's only the beginning of her problems.





	1. FIRE

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all comments or constructive criticism welcome! Follow me on tumblr (onebatch2batch), I love getting prompts in my inbox <3
> 
> (Title from River -- Bishop Briggs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did we not—did you not flame, and I catch fire?  
> — A. S. Byatt, Possession

Karen Page stares up at the fire engulfing her apartment, barely registering the cold biting through her robe. It had been a little past two in the morning when the alarm in her building began to go off. Luckily, she had still been awake, working on an article for her deadline next week, and she was able to grab a bag of her things before making her way quickly down the stairs. 

There are people all around her, gathered in groups or standing alone. She recognizes a few of them, but most of them are strangers milling around, lost. Firefighters are running in and out of the building, and the sound of the fire hose is roaring in her ears. She’s watching the fire blow out a window near the top floor when she hears her name. She turns questioningly, peering through the crowd of people, and feels relief upon seeing Frank’s face pushing through. He’s at her side in a moment, grabbing her arms gently, eyes wild. “Karen, are you alright?”

She blinks in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He brushes his fingers over her, searching for injuries, his eyebrows pulled together in worry. “Heard it on the scanner. Are you hurt?”

The concern in his voice paired with the excitement of the evening is almost too much to bear; she feels exhausted tears fight their way out. “I’m fine.”

He softens are her watery admission and pulls her to him, then seems to realize she’s in slippers and a bathrobe. He chucks off his jacket to throw around her shoulders, and then pulls her to his chest in a hug. “You’re okay, shh, hey…it’s okay. I got you.”

It’s been months of their developing friendship that allows her to sink into his arms, sighing deeply. She’s tired, and frustrated, and worried, but the heat of his embrace is calming her. “I think I’m going to need to find a new place,” she mumbles into his shirt. 

She feels the vibration of his laugh more than she hears it. “Looks like it. Come on, you’re staying with me.”

She pulls back to give him a small smile. “Really?”

His voice is gruff, embarrassed. “’Course. If y’want.”

She nods, too tired to think about how her heart flutters at the offer—she’s never been to his place and the thought of being allowed in his space, bad circumstances or not, has curiosity bubbling inside her. 

Frank takes one last look at the apartment building, then nods and pulls her through the crowd. 

\--

Karen steps into Frank Castle’s apartment and is blown away by the _normalcy_ of it. It’s small and meticulously clean, but cozy. There’s a small kitchen connected to the living room, and three doors leading to what she assumes is a bedroom, bathroom and closet. There’s an abandoned cup of coffee on the counter, and a pile of books on the coffee table. The walls are plain—no pictures hang here. 

Frank closes the door behind her and sheds his coat, watching as she steps forward to look around. “It’s not much,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. Karen nods, too curious to answer as she drops her bag on the couch. She’s grateful either way—she knows it’s an inconvenience having her here, since there’s no telling when she’ll be allowed back in her place, if at all. 

She picks up the book on the top of the coffee table and gives him an amused look. “Greek mythology?”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah, uh, Lieberman’s kid is readin’ ‘em for school. Thought I’d try ‘em again—didn’t much care for them at that age.”

She sets the book down. “How are they doing?”

Frank steps over to one of the doors, opens it to reveal a linen closet. He pulls out an extra blanket. “Good. Gettin’ back to normal. They’re good kids. Good parents, too.”

“I’m glad you have them,” she tells him before she can think about it, and he looks at her with raised brows. “I mean, you know….friends.”

“I have friends, Karen,” he deadpans, but the corner of his mouth twitches in a smile. 

She laughs, embarrassed, and presses a hand to her face, feeling the blush that spreads there. “I’m sorry, that sounds awful. That’s not what I meant.”

Frank chuckles and sets the blanket on the couch. “’s fine. You plannin’ on stayin’ up?”

As soon as he asks, she remembers how utterly exhausted she is. “I should probably get some sleep…”

He nods and gestures. “Take the bed.”

Karen scoffs. “I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, Frank. It’s nice enough you’re letting me stay, but that’s too much.”

Frank ignores her, spreading the blanket on the couch. He toes of his shoes. “You’re right—you can’t kick me out, I’m offerin’.”

She folds her arms stubbornly and steps towards the couch. “Frank—“

He stops her with a shake of his head. “Karen, you’re exhausted, and you’re gonna sleep longer than me. Go on.”

He’s right—and she doesn’t have enough fight left in her to argue tonight. She sighs and turns away, but he grabs her hands and pulls her back, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says at her bewildered look. 

Karen gives him a small smile, her skin tingling from his lips. “Good night, Frank. Thank you, again.”

His _good night_ follows her straight to bed, and she leaves the door cracked open, laying there with his smell and presence filling up her senses as she is lulled to sleep. 

\--

Karen wakes the next afternoon, unaware of her surroundings at first. She’s got her face smushed into the pillow, and it takes a moment for her to realize why it smells so different than her own pillow. She inhales, Frank’s woodsy smell filling her head, and then past that, _coffee_. 

Her phone is dead on the bedside table when she reaches for it, and beyond that is a picture propped carefully on the lamp. 

The Castle family stares at her from the worn little photo, and Karen’s just thinking _maybe I could find him one that’s not crumpled_ when there’s a knock on the door. 

Frank steps in at her call and gives her an amused look. “Hey, bedhead. There’s coffee.” 

She grabs her phone and tries to smooth down her hair, grinning. “Great. Do you have a phone charger?”

He shakes his head, eyeing her phone as they step into the kitchen. He pours her a cup of coffee and passes it over. “Not for that thing. David might.” 

She blinks. “Lieberman?” 

”Yeah, he’s stoppin’ over.”

Karen lights up curiously. As many stories as she’s heard about David Lieberman and his family, she still hasn’t met them yet. All she knows if from what she’d researched herself, and what Frank has deigned appropriate to tell her. She disappears to change into the jeans and t-shirt she’d grabbed on her way out of her apartment, brushing her teeth with her finger ( _desperate times_ , she thinks), and by the time she steps out of the bathroom, there’s an erratic knock on the door. 

Frank looks through the peephole and then glances back at her with the widest grin she’s ever seen on his face. When he opens the door, there’s a blur and then a short figure tackles him around the middle. He picks what is a young girl up and hugs her. “Hey kiddo,” he smiles as the young girl grins at him. 

“Pete! Where have you _been_?”

He sets her down and clasps the shoulder of the man who comes through next. Karen recognizes the curly hair and blue eyes from his picture so long ago—this is David Lieberman. Frank is tugging at the girl’s ponytail lightly. “Been here, kid. How 'bout you?”

“Dad says you spend all your time with your girlfriend,” the girl says knowingly, before her gaze finds Karen in the background. “Oh! Is this her?? Hi, I’m Leo Lieberman!”

Frank’s smile freezes on his face, and David chokes back his greeting, eyes widening. Karen feels her mouth drop open in surprise. Leo comes to stand in front of her, grinning wildly, her dark eyes inquisitive. Karen just barely registers the quick punch Frank lands on David’s shoulder before she can answer. “Hi, Leo. I’m Karen Page. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

This makes the young girl light up in pleasure, but it’s the truth. Karen has sat through many phone calls, and many late night diner runs with Frank as he tells her about the Lieberman children. His voice is always prideful and has a certain degree of tenderness that makes her melt. He loves those kids like his own; when they succeed, he brags. When they fail, he’s upset. When something bad happens, he worries. She remembers a particular late night at dinner when he told her about Leo’s award winning science fair project that knocked everyone else out of the water. His eyes were shining with pride and he was hiding a smile behind his hand when a little voice had spoken up in the back of her mind _isn’t he handsome?_ And she had shoved it back like the rest of her thoughts about him. 

Leo beams over at Frank. “I wish I could say the same,” she says slyly, more suggestive than a fourteen year old should be. Karen coughs to hide her laugh and looks up at David.

He gives her an awkward smile, rubbing his arm. “Uh, hi, Karen. Nice to finally meet you.”

Frank’s giving him a deadly side eye, which David ignores in favor of walking over and pouring himself some coffee. Karen smiles and sips her own. “You too. It’s nice to put a face to the stories.”

Frank crosses his arms, leaning against the counter. “So what was the big emergency, Lieberman?”

David clears his throat, glances at Leo. “Can we take a walk?”

Frank frowns deeply. They exchange a look that tells her what David has to say is important, maybe dangerous, and she's honestly not too keen on hearing about whatever they're about to discuss. “If you two are going to be a while…how about I take Leo to the store? I need some fresh clothes," she says lightly. It's the truth, who know when she'll be allowed back in her apartment. She'll be needing some clothes sooner rather than later.

Leo squeals happily. “Dad, please? Pleasee?”

David glances at Frank, then shrugs. “Sure, that’s fine. If you want to.”

Karen smiles. “Happy to, I could use a shopping buddy. Let me brush my hair and we can leave, okay Leo?”

She misses the way Frank’s eyes follow her to the bathroom, tender and intense all at once. 

\--

Leo Lieberman is an absolute delight to be around. The girl is beyond smart for her age, and curious about everything. When she isn’t telling Karen about something she learned in school or from a book, she’s asking about Karen. 

_What do you do?_ She’d asked as they had lunch at a little café. _Is journalism fun? I think you’re super pretty, just like my mom. I like your clothes._

And then, further along in the afternoon, she began to pry. _So how do you know Pete? I know that’s not his real name, but that’s what I knew him first, and my dad says that I should just keep calling him that. He comes around for dinner a lot, but not lately…my dad says it’s because he’s spending time with you, and that he loves you a lot, even though he still loves us. So I guess I’m okay with him not coming over as much._

The words coming flying out one after another, but when Leo tells her this, Karen stops processing them. _Frank loves me?_ She wonders, watching the girl prattle on. _She must just mean in…in a general sense._

But then she thinks about how lately, he’s always been there. Late nights where he would keep her company, reading while she worked on an article. How he would call her up and ask her to lunch to break up her work day. How he came straight to her an offered her a place to stay when her apartment caught on fire. 

Karen decides this is a problem she can deal with later; she shoves down her questions and the nervousness in her throat, throws on a smile, and spends the rest of the afternoon talking to Leo about safer topics. 

When they return to Frank’s apartment, the two of them are seated on the couch. Frank has his head in his hands, and David is typing rapidly on his computer. 

“Dad, we’re back! Karen bought me some books!” Leo says excitedly, hurrying over to show her dad. David gives her a wide smile, but there’s anxiety thrumming beneath it. 

“That’s great, honey. Did you say thank you?” At her nod, he closes his computer and stands. “Great. Look, we uh, we gotta go. Frank and Karen gotta talk about some stuff. Okay? Say goodbye.”

Karen looks at Frank anxiously, confused. He glances at her and then looks away, worry plain on his face. He wipes it off long enough to say goodbye to the Liebermans, and then they’re alone. 

“What’s going on, Frank?” Karen asks quietly, taking a seat next to him. 

“What do you know about Wilson Fisk?” he asks, searching her intensely. 

She feels the color drain from her face. “I—um. He—he’s in jail.”

She doesn’t mention the nightmares where he comes to her, dragging the bodies of those she loves behind him, wrapping his meaty fingers around her throat and squeezing until she’s gasping, until everything goes dark. She doesn’t mention that even his name makes her blood run cold. She doesn’t mention the gun sitting at the bottom of the harbor, the current washing away any evidence of her crime. 

Frank stands and starts pacing the short length of the room. “What else do you know?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, too quickly. He stops and looks at her, frustration flashing across his features. 

“We don’t lie,” he reminds her flatly. Karen looks down at her hands, her heart thumping through her chest. He’s right—they never lie to each other and she’s been, essentially, lying to him for months. She feels him settle next to her and his hands reach out for hers carefully. “Karen…you can tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “there is…something.”

He waits patiently, and she focuses on his thumb, sweeping back and forth over her knuckles. The words are fighting her, and it takes some time for her to speak. “Fisk had—had this right hand man, James Wesley. I got too close to Fisk, I started digging in his affairs and…Wesley kidnapped me.” Frank’s thumb stutters to a stop and she closes her eyes. “He took me to this warehouse by the docks. He threatened me, said—said he’d kill Foggy, and Matt, and then…me.” She laughs, watery. “Frank, he put his gun on the table. Right in front of me. Taunting me; said I wouldn’t shoot him. And then when he was distracted, I—I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else. I just…”

“Attagirl,” Frank murmurs next to her, his voice quiet but loaded. 

Karen chokes out a laugh. “I shot him _seven times_ , Frank. What kind of person _does_ that?”

He brings an arm around her shoulders, pulls her to him. His lips meet her temple. “A scared one. Hell, a brave one. You did nothin’ wrong. You been keepin’ this to yourself this whole time?”

She nods, and lets herself believe his words for a moment. Sits there with her head on his shoulder, the world quiet around them, and really starts to believe it. Then a horrible thought dawns on her. She pulls away and meets his eyes. “Wait…why are you bringing this up?

His silence is enough. She stands and backs away, vision blurring in panic. Her breathing shallows. “Does—is—does he—know?” 

Frank is beside her in a flash, holding her up. “Karen, breathe. You hear me? Relax. David is lookin’ into it, he thinks…the fire wasn’t an accident.”

Karen struggles to get herself under control, but all she can think about is that Fisk knows what she did, and he’s coming for her, and he’s willing to burn an entire building to the ground to do it. Innocent people, dead, because of what she did. She’s sitting on the floor when she comes back to herself, half in Frank’s lap, and he’s got her head cradled under his chin. He’s rubbing soothing circles on her back. “What do I do?” she asks, exhausted. 

“You’re stayin’ with me,” he says firmly. “And we’re gonna figure it out. I’m not gonna let him touch you. Understand?”

Leo’s words echo back to her— _he loves you a lot_ —and Karen feels the first brush of peace touch her, temporarily soothing the panic. Frank’s words are strong and confident and she knows he’s telling her the truth. He’ll protect her no matter what. She wraps him in a tight hug, the angle awkward due to their position on the floor. “Thank you, Frank.”

His voice is soft in her ear. “Of course.”


	2. BAIT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I burned so long so quiet you must have wondered   
> if I loved you back. I did, I did, I do.  
> — Annelyse Gelman, from “The Pillowcase” in _Everyone I Love is a Stranger to Someone_

The next week is a blur. Frank makes her a spare key and they wait for news on her apartment. Her clothes (all new, to the chagrin of her wallet) start to fill up his closet; her toiletries make themselves home in his bathroom. She goes to work and he waits for her after, to walk her home safely. They stay up late and she works on her articles while he lies on the couch and reads. 

It’s all very…. _domestic_. Karen can’t say she’s upset about it, but with the knowledge of his feelings, and the loaded look she catches from him occasionally, it’s hard to ignore her own blooming thoughts about him.

They’re sitting in silence one night, when she catches herself staring. She had just sent off an email to Ellison when she glances up and something catches her eye. Frank is lying prone on the couch, feet propped up on one end. He’s got his book balanced on his chest, one arm behind his head, and his shirt has ridden up over his stomach. Karen lets her gaze trace over the hard lines of his abs, feeling a familiar heat simmering inside her. 

It’s hard not to be attracted to Frank. She’s been stomping down her feelings for him for so long, but now that she knows it’s reciprocated (at least according to her sources)…she finds her mind straying _constantly_. There are absolutely more important things she should be occupying her thoughts with, but having him around all the time has really done a number on her. 

Karen closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, gathering herself. Realistically, they can’t keep doing this dance forever. The tension between them builds with each passing day, and she knows soon it’s going to break. It’s just a matter of when, and whether or not they’ll be handle to handle the shift in dynamic. 

When she opens her eyes, Frank is looking at her questioningly. “Okay?” he asks, voice loud in the silence. 

She nods and puts her fingers back o the keys of her computer, pushing her feelings down and away. 

\--

When Karen is finally allowed back into her apartment, it’s not as bad as she thought. There’s plenty of smoke damage but there’s some of her clothes that are salvageable, and small things like photos and jewelry. Frank helps her gather what’s left and they bring it to his car. When they’re driving she sniffs and grimaces. “Oh, gross. Now we smell like smoke.” 

Frank chuckles. “We did just go into a building covered in it.” His tone is joking, but she can see the tightness of his shoulders, a remnant of his anger at seeing her place destroyed. There’s been little evidence of Fisk’s involvement in the fire except the figure that had kicked into someone’s window and tossed in a Molotov cocktail. The building across the street caught it on tape, and David had made quick work of rendering the image to identify the man—one of Wilson Fisk’s known lackeys. Since then, no leads. The man had disappeared and Fisk was still living out his sentence in prison. It was hardly reassuring—it only proved how far his influence went. 

They drop her clothes off at the cleaner’s and return to Frank’s as the sun is setting. Frank glances at her and then gestures. “I’m gonna shower.” 

Karen nods and opens her computer. “Save me some hot water,” she calls after him, Googling apartments nearby. 

The shower shuts off ten minutes later, pulling her out of her search. She glances up just as Frank opens the door to the bathroom, and her mouth goes dry at the sight. He’s got a towel hanging low on his hips, and his skin is still damp from the shower. He steps out and pauses when he catches sight of her staring, and raises an eyebrow. 

Karen flushes and forces herself to look back at her computer, waits until his bedroom door closes before letting out a soft groan. _This is torture,_ she decides. _This is my punishment for killing Wesley._

It’s only a half joke, and as soon as Frank comes out clothed she stumbles over an excuse and goes to shower. The bathroom smells of his aftershave, and the soft scent of his soap, and it’s doing nothing for her hormones. She takes the quickest possible shower and brushes out her hair in front of the mirror, prolonging leaving the bathroom. Maybe if she pretends that her feelings don’t exist they’ll just...go away. 

_It’s just Frank,_ she tells herself, opening the door. _Just Frank._

Frank, who is standing in the kitchen with a glass in his hand. Frank, who watches her casually as he leans against the counter. Frank, with his dark eyes and strong arms and calm reassurances. Frank, who pours her a drink when she walks over, speaking no words but the expression in his eyes telling her everything. 

Karen takes a drink, feels the whiskey burn its way down her throat and settle in her stomach. She leans against the opposite counter, a foot away, feeling the tension build around them like a bubble ready to pop. Frank finishes his drink and sets down the glass with a sharp _clink_ against the counter. She finishes her own and lets her eyes drift down to his lips, imagining having them on her own. 

“Karen,” Frank rumbles, a warning. She flicks her eyes back up to his, opening her mouth to respond before suddenly his phone rings, shrill. 

They stare at each other in silence as Frank presses the phone to his ear. “...Yeah.” He watches her intensely as he listens to whoever is on the line. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Lieberman.” 

He hangs up and drags his hand down his face. “They’re thinking about letting him out on parole. And one of his offshore accounts transferred money to someone named Edward Chenley two weeks ago.” 

“The one who set the fire,” she remembers, deflating. “He knows.” 

Frank nods, braces his hands on the counter behind him. She can see the energy practically vibrating off of him—the desire to go out and end to who put her in this position. She drops her face in her hands, takes a deep breath in. “Fuck,” she mutters, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“Hey.” Frank grips her elbows and tugs away her hands. “It’s gonna be okay. Breathe.” 

She lets him pull her hands away, stares up at him wordlessly. He meets her eyes and his expression changes imperceptibly, and then he’s leaning down and his lips are soft on hers. Karen feels the scratch of his beard, lets him pull her to him, his fingers sliding down her back tentatively. He tastes of whiskey, and there’s something earthly about him. It’s not long before she feels him pull back, shifting away to place his forehead against hers. 

“No one is going to touch you,” he says, voice like shattered glass, his breath fanning over her lips. 

She lets herself smile, slides her hands down his chest carefully. They’ve officially crossed the line, but she’s not sure how far, or if this is a one-off thing. She wants to tell him how she feels but she's terrified of his reaction—terrified of the possibility of him telling her it's too soon. “I trust you,” she says instead, hoping it conveys what she means. 

He presses another kiss to her lips, brushes his fingers over her cheek. “I know.” 

He backs up a step, releases her, and she feels herself swaying towards him automatically. She’s tired, so tired, of pretending like she’s okay with the distance between them. 

_Now isn’t the time,_ she reminds herself, and looks away. She’s pulled back when he tilts her chin towards him, eyebrows drawn. 

“What’s in your head?” He murmurs. 

“You,” she says quietly. “Well...us. I just—is this the right time for—this?” 

He drops his hand, shrugs, gives her an off smile. “Maybe. Don’t think we’ve ever had great timing.”

He’s right, and she tells herself that as she leans up and kisses him again, allowing the tongue that swipes at her lip inside, his palms warm on her hips, the counter pressing into her back as he drives forward. He wastes no time, and she hooks an arm around his shoulders as he lifts her to sit on the counter, stepping between her legs. His mouth finds her neck, pressing kisses down to her collarbone. The transition from soft and gentle to hungry is like whiplash. 

Karen feels every point between them with startling clarity; she remembers that moment in the elevator, the unspoken words in his gaze, the gentle way he had pressed his forehead to hers, like he was asking permission. Like he was losing himself and she was anchoring him there. 

The way he touches her right now is wanting, desperate, needy. She hooks her ankles behind him and pulls his hips towards her, humming delightfully as he grinds against her. “Frank--” she sighs as his hands slip up under her shirt. 

He hums, peppering her jaw with kisses. “D’you want--this?” he says against her skin, fingers brushing against the clasp of her bra. 

Karen pulls at his shirt, brings his mouth up to hers. “Yes,” she whispers into his mouth. “But not here.” 

Frank pulls back and smirks at her, flicks open her bra on the way. She gasps and then smacks his arm, amused. “Frank,” she chastises, but he swallows her laugh and lifts her as if she weighs nothing, turning and heading towards the bedroom. 

And for a while, Karen forgets about everything except Frank Castle. 

\--

Karen wakes slowly. The sun is beating down on her back, and upon opening her eyes, she realizes three things: first, she’s naked, and sore in all the right places; second, Frank is next to her, his arm thrown over her waist; third, he is still asleep, and his hair is sticking up in several places. She tries to restrain her laugh and runs her fingers through it, but it’s useless. She can’t ever recall seeing him asleep, and he looks so peaceful it makes her heart swell. 

“What’re you laughin’ at?” Frank mumbles, peeking an eye open to look at her. 

“You,” she laughs softly, propping herself up to look down at him. She can hardly take her eyes off of him—the novelty of this moment doesn’t escape her. 

He hums, drags his knuckles along her side lightly. “What about me?”

She brushes down his hair and leans down to kiss his temple, feeling overwhelmed and elated. “You’re just…cute.”

He turns to lie on his back and peers up at her, amused. “Cute, huh? Haven’t heard that one.” He reaches up and threads his fingers through her hair, pulling her down into a slow, deep kiss. Karen feels it all the way down to her toes, and she slips her hand under the sheet teasingly, creeping past his navel. He breaks away to chuckle. “We can’t—I need to call David.”

Karen huffs, stopping just above his waist and scratches lightly with her nails. “Right now?” she murmurs. “I wanted to thank you for last night.” 

He had most definitely given more than he’d taken, and he looks about ready to cave when there’s a pounding at the front door. 

“Ugh,” Karen sighs, rolling off of him as the moment slips away. Frank pulls his pants on and heads for the door, frowning; he’s no longer sleepy morning, post-sex Frank—this is Frank Castle, vigilante on high alert. Karen wraps herself in a sheet and watches form the bedroom door as he looks through the peephole, then opens the door to reveal a frantic David. 

“Frank, man, oh man, this is not good.” David paces inside and stops upon noticing their dishevelment. “Uh…oh. Mazel tov,” he says, then runs a hand through his hair and resumes his pacing. 

She’s too worried to be embarrassed. “What’s going on, David?”

“It’s Fisk. He uh, he’s out on parole. Officially. He got let out this morning. I was—I was tracking his name and there was an email sent and now he’s on parole and I came straight here.” David looks between them. “He’s _out_.”

Karen feels her knees turn to jelly, and braces herself on the doorframe. “Oh,” she says weakly. 

Frank shoots her a concerned look, and then turns to David. “Can you get me an address?” 

David stares at him. “Are you kidding? Frank, he’s going to have security everywhere—“

“Yes or no, Lieberman.” 

“…yeah. Yeah, probably.”

“Good. Get it.” Frank picks up his phone and dials a number. “I need your help,” he says into the phone. Pauses. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Curt.”

“Frank,” Karen says quietly, fighting through the panic. 

“Lieberman, take Sarah and the kids somewhere for the weekend. I don’t care where. Just get them out.”

“ _Frank._ ”

“Well, I’m staying. But I could send them to—“

“Frank!”

Both men turn to stare at her, and Karen tries to look as dignified as possible, holding up the sheet. “Stop, okay? Just stop. You’re not going after him.” Frank scowls, opening his mouth to argue, but she cuts him off. “Whatever plan you have, it’s not enough. There’s a reason he’s so powerful. You need an actual plan.” She blinks, a plan developing in her mind. 

“…you need _bait_.”


	3. FINAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter in this installment, folks. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and left kudos so far, you seriously make my day. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone will challenge the dark in you, don’t run away when that happens.  
> — Kriti.G

Two hours, a shower, and two pots of coffee later, Karen paces before the three men on the couch. “It’s our best option, and you all know it,” she says, stopping before them. 

“You are _not_ going to be bait, Karen.” Frank is in the same sour mood he was in when she first them him her plan. His fingers are twitching and he’s rocking slightly like the anger is too much to hold inside a still body. David has his head in his hands, silent. It’s Curtis who surprises her. 

“…she’s right, Frank.”

“ _What._ ”

Curtis shrugs and gives Karen a nod, standing up next to her. Introductions had been brief when he arrived but Karen liked him already—his confident, pleasant demeanor and friendship to Frank impressed her right away. “She’s right. Fisk is gonna have men everywhere. You’re not thinking about this straight. We need a distraction and if we use Karen’s plan—“

“She’ll be killed!” Frank roars, shocking them into silence. 

Karen glances between their stony expressions, and sighs. “Come here,” she tells Frank, excusing them and pulling him into the bedroom. She closes the door and watches him pace, letting him get some anger out. Eventually he turns and looks at her, wrecked. 

“Karen, please,” he says hoarsely, “I can’t lose you too. I can’t.”

She steps closer and places her hands on his cheeks. “You wont. Okay? Remember what you said to me?”

He leans forward, touching his forehead to hers desperately. “Karen--…”

“You said you wouldn’t let him touch me, right? You said you’d protect me.” Karen closes her eyes, listens to his breathing. “I trust you with my life, Frank. And I trust this plan. It’s going to work, I swear.”

He pulls away to look at her, and the emotion on his face nearly breaks her. “If it doesn’t?”

Karen takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “It will.”

He looks like he’s thinking of more ways to try and convince her not to do it, but eventually he looks away in frustration. Karen pulls him into a hug and he holds her tight, like he’s sure this will be the last time. 

_Please, let this work._

\--

It’s a two-part plan: get Fisk’s undivided attention, and then get captured long enough to divert that attention from Frank tearing apart his empire. 

Karen writes a biting article about Wilson Fisk’s release from jail, about his hand in the corruption of their city. It’s intense enough that Ellison questions her about it, but he publishes it anyways. Then, she goes on Trish’s talk show and reiterates her sentiments. 

It’s less than a day before the second part of her plan comes to fruition. Karen leaves the office late, after the sun has already sunk below the horizon and street lamps have come on. She knows Frank is watching her from some dark rooftop, but that doesn’t stop her heart from thumping a little faster when she realizes she’s being followed. There’s two men half a block behind her, both dressed in black, watching her. Karen lifts her eyes and scans the rooftops, feeling for the gun in her purse nervously. Despite this being her plan, she’s aware it could go horribly wrong in a flash. 

She’s just considering confronting the two men when a black limo pulls up to the curb ahead of her. A man steps out and opens the back door and looks at her expectantly. He’s dressed impeccably and his tone is even when he speaks. “Ms. Page,” he greets, “please get in the car.”

She stops, glances between him and the open door. “Who are you?” she asks as the footsteps come up behind her. She reaches for her gun nervously. 

“Please get in the car,” he repeats, smile frozen on his face. She feels rather than hears the two men directly behind her, and then before she can grasp her gun, her purse is yanked off her shoulder. The gasp she lets out is real—and so is the fear. 

There’s a shove between her shoulder blades, driving her forward. She looks back and glares, trying to be brave. “Excuse you,” she hisses. “Give that back.”

The meaner of the two men scowls at her. He steps forward threateningly. “Get in, bitch,” he snarls. 

Karen has been through her fair share of bullshit, but when she looks around to find Frank and sees nothing, real panic starts to set in. What if he lost her? What if he was jumped by someone and couldn’t find her again? What if this plan is as stupid as he said? She feels another rough shove and stumbles, heel cracking on the sidewalk, and ankle twisting. The pain is instant and she sucks in a quick breath. “Okay, okay! Fuck,” she grimaces, easing into the car carefully. The door is slammed after her and she looks down the length of the limo, squinting through the darkness. 

Wilson Fisk stares back at her with a slow smile. “Ms. Page,” he greets. “Welcome. I thought we could have a little chat. In private.”

And even though this has been the plan from the start, Karen feels the color drain from her face as the limo drives off, and she prays that Frank finds her soon. 

\--

Karen is seated at a table in Wilson Fisk’s penthouse apartment, terrified. 

The apartment is beautiful. There’s gorgeous art work decoration the white walls, and the furniture looks barely used. Everything has a touch of elegance, down to the giant window to her left, which overlooked the New York skyline. If this were any other situation, she would be in awe—but all she can feel is dread. 

Fisk is circling the table—a shark, sniffing for blood; he’s just as intimidating as the first time she saw him, during his trial. He’s massive, towering over her in a suit that probably costs more than her entire wardrobe. HE hasn’t bothered to tie her down, or drug her. She sits and keeps her mouth shut and stares across the table at the wall, trying to stay calm. 

There are two men by the door, and more outside. A lot more. Karen wonders if Frank and Curtis are going to be okay, and she’s trying to convince herself they will be when Fisk stops behind her. “I’d like to discuss the article you wrote. And the subsequent radio appearance.” 

He’s an eloquent man, obviously well educated, but Karen can hear the barely-tempered anger under his words. He grabs the back of her chair hard enough that it groans under his fingers. She jumps, but tries to keep her breathing even—if he’s going to kill her, she’s not going to give him the satisfaction of her fear. Her eyes flit around the room, desperately praying for Frank to appear. 

He doesn’t. 

Fisk lets go and steps around her, taking seat next to her. He smiles, razor sharp in the thick cushion of his face. “What have I done to deserve your ire, Ms. Page?”

She swallows, meeting his eyes with a raised chin. “You’re—dirty,” she stutters. “You and—and everyone you come in contact with.”

Fisk hums, tilting his head. He surveys her, and his stillness unnerves her. “Do you happen to mean people like James Wesley?” 

_So he does know._ Karen can’t help her sharp inhale, and the fright that slaps her across the face. Fisk stares at her, his lips twisted into a caricature of a smile. She doesn’t speak, can’t speak, just stares.

Fisk stands and removes his jacket with shaking hands. “You killed him,” he says simply. “You killed my best friend, and then your firm threw me in jail, and now you have the _impudence_ to openly campaign against me to the city I love.” He lays the jacket over the back of a chair and turns back to her, thick fingers wrapping around her throat without a seconds delay. “You have made a very _grave_ error, Ms. Page.”

Karen feels her feet lifting off the ground and kicks, gasping. It’s like she weighs nothing to him, and he throws her on the ground with a growl, the fury lighting up his face. Karen hears the sickening sound of her head smacking the hardwood, sees through blurry vision as Fisk stands above her, raising both fists. He’s got an animalistic look in his eyes, and he’s yelling words that she barely hears--all she hears is the blood pumping in her ears, feels the sticky texture of her blood pooling under her head. She raises a hand weakly in defense, and he lowers his fists in slow motion. 

Suddenly he’s gone, and there’s a whole other kind of roaring happening. Karen presses a hand to her head, dizzy, and cranes her neck to see what’s happening. 

Frank is toe to toe with Fisk, throwing more punches than she can count. He’s yelling, guttural, driving Fisk backwards away from her. Karen pushes herself into a sitting position, crying out at the pain in her ankle. She’d fallen on it, and she’s sure it’s broken. Frank glances back at her cry, which gives Fisk just enough time to grab him by the shirt and throw him into the window. It cracks under the pressure, Fisk throwing punches to Frank’s chest, and Karen watches in horror as the cracks spiderweb outward. She scrambles to her feet and looks around for a weapon, sees the two guards by the door prone on the ground. She half limps, half runs over and picks up one of the guns. 

_Thank god for Vermont,_ she thinks, remembering her father teaching her the ins and out of a gun as a teenager. She lifts it and aims, listening to Frank’s pained grunts. Adrenaline is pumping through her, keeping her standing. 

“Fisk!” She screams, “Get away from him!”

Fisk turns, eyes wild. “How dare you,” he snarls, stepping towards her. “You won’t shoot me you bi—“

She locks eyes with Frank, bloodied and bruised against the cracked window. He nods imperceptibly, and she returns her gaze to Fisk and pulls the trigger. 

He doesn’t fall at first, just looks down slow, watching the blood blossom over his breast pocket. He looks back up and opens his mouth, makes a soft sound a little like a laugh, and tumbles forward with a crash. Karen watches it in slow motion, then drops to her knees and folds in on herself when he’s sure he’s not getting back up. Frank’s dragging footsteps reach her and his hands find her face. 

“Karen,” he mumbles. “Come on, Karen.” 

There’s pounding footsteps, then Curtis appears in the doorway. “Guys, we gotta go— _now._ Lieberman’s got the cameras but the cops are on the way.” 

Karen nods, takes a deep breath and stands. She winces at the pain in her foot and Curtis wraps an arm around her waist. Karen casts another glance back at Fisk, then turns and lets him lead her out. 

\--

She calls Mahoney on the way back to frank’s place and explains everything. She tells him most of the truth—she had angered Fisk, he came after her, and she got lucky that someone was looking out for her, then hightailed it out of there. _You’re the luckiest goddamn person I’ve ever met, Page,_ he says into the phone, and she only sighs and promises to stop by and give her statement in the morning. 

Curtis had stayed just long enough to verify they were both okay, determining her ankle a fracture, before he leaves them alone. They’re sitting in his bathroom now, fresh from the shower. Frank has her ankle in his lap and he’s wrapping it tenderly as she watches. 

He’s clean, but bruises are blooming across his chest and over his face. Karen reaches up and presses tenderly at her own bruises circling her neck. She can still feel Fisk’s fingers around her, squeezing the air out of her. Her head had needed a few stitches, and now that she’s come down from the adrenaline, she can barely keep her eyes open. 

Frank’s hands lift her leg and carefully set it on the ground. He looks at her, exhaustion plain on his face. “You tired as me?” He asks, soft. 

Karen nods, dreading the walk to his bed. She closes her eyes and leans against his shoulder, sighing. “Can we just sleep here?” She mumbles, but he only huffs out a laugh and picks her up before she realizes what he’s doing. 

She grimaces, wrapping an arm around his neck. “Frank…you’re more hurt than I am. Put me down.”

“Had worse than this,” he tells her as he step out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He lays her down carefully, mindful of her ankle, and collapses beside her. She turns to look at him and hesitates. 

“Can I…?” She gestures to his chest worriedly. 

He gives her a small smile and pulls her to him, burying his face in her hair. Karen finally feels the tension drain from her and sighs with the realization that it’s finally over. Frank rubs a hand down her back. “Never again,” he tells her in the silence. “We’re never doin’ that again.”

“Fine by me,” she returns, nearly asleep. She’s warm and her pain medication is hitting her, and they’re together and most importantly, _safe._

It’s a long time before he speaks again, pulling her from sleep. “I love you,” he says, and it’s so soft she feels tears prick her eyes. He holds her tighter as he says this, like it’s a promise. 

She debates feigning sleep, but the emotions in her are too much. She opens her eyes and leans up to kiss him, tenderly. He pulls away and looks at her, shy and surprised. “I love you too, Frank. You know that, right?”

He smiles, presses his forehead to hers. “I do.”

And even though tomorrow will bring new struggles—her statement to the police, finding an apartment, explaining what happened to Ellison—Karen burrows back into Frank’s embrace and lets herself fall back into sleep, safe in his arms.


End file.
